‘I’m afraid I—­’

‘And so am I afraid,’ she interrupted him gravely.  ’I wish you to come to Eastbourne.  I wish you to!’

‘No, not to Eastbourne.  I have reasons.’

Her eyes fell.

‘But I promise you,’ he continued, ’that I will leave town to-morrow.  I promise you.  Don’t think me unkind that I refuse to come with you.  I will go to Jersey again; it suits me.  I’ll stay there till Grail comes back with his wife, and then see if I feel well enough to come and go on with the work.’

‘Very well,’ Mrs. Ormonde replied, slowly.

‘Do you doubt my word?’ he asked, moving forward to her.

‘We are not so far as that, Walter.’

‘And now tell me what I am to do for you.’

She hesitated, but only for a moment.

‘I wish you to see Mr. Bunce for me.  Do you meet him nowadays?’

‘Not just now, but I can see him any time.’

’I want to arrange, if possible, to keep his child with me for some time, for a year or more.  It is not impossible that her disease might be checked if she lived at Eastbourne, but in London she will very soon die.  I should like to see Mr. Bunce myself, and I thought you might be able to arrange for a meeting between us.  My idea is this:  I shall tell him that the girl can make herself useful in the house, and that I wish to pay her for her services.  The money would of course go to him, and he might use it to get help in his home.  Bessie, the child, has explained to me all the difficulties in the way of her remaining with me; they are heightened by her father’s character, as you can understand.  Now do you think he would see me?  He might come to my hotel, or he might come here, or if he allows me, I would go to him.’

‘I will arrange it, somehow.  Trust me, I will arrange it.’

’You should have said that with a wave of the hand, as omnipotent people do on the stage.’

He laughed.

’There is no feeling miserable with you.  Have you not something of that mesmeric power which draws one back into health under a touch?’

’Perhaps.  A little.  My children sometimes show astonishing improvement, when they get fond of me.’

They talked of various things, but no mention was made of the Newthorpes by either.

‘Is Paula back yet?’ Mrs. Ormonde asked.

‘I have no idea.  I am not likely ever to see her again.’

’Oh, yes!  When you come back from New Zealand.  I shall go and see the Tyrrells this afternoon, I think.  I have to dine with friends at Hampstead.  When can I have the result of your inquiries?’

‘I will come to you to-morrow morning.’

’At ten, please.  I have a great deal to get into the day; and you yourself must be off by noon.’

‘By noon I shall be.’

This visit had been happily timed.  Sympathy was essential to Egremont as often as he suffered from the caprices of his temperament, and in grave trouble it was a danger for him to be left companionless.  He was highly nervous, and the tumult of his imagination affected his bodily state in a degree uncommon in men, though often seen in delicately organised women.  When Mrs. Ormonde left him he felt relieved in mind, but physically so brought down that he stretched himself upon the sofa.  He remained there for more than an hour.